Metro: Crimson Tides
by CetusTheSeaMonster
Summary: A book taking place in an alternate timeline within the metro book/game lore. It follows the story of Tolenka as he attempts to cross Moscow via the metro to locate his family. With danger at every corner, will he make it through the tunnels? Or will he find his place with many souls, doomed to walk the rails forever?


**Author's note**: this story takes place in the metro lore, it doesn't match up entirely, however. I made this in my image and will relate to events within the books, maybe the games. I would think of this as an alternate timeline and anything could be the same or very different, so don't get angry if something doesn't match up. My story may seem similar to moments in the books and characters but not many will make an appearance. The timeline of events in the metro books will be mostly ignored, as an example [spoiler] Miller may be perfectly healthy when the mushroom plague occurred in the third book.

[end book spoiler] Also factions in this story will most likely live in their respective stations but their actions and reactions to events will be different.

So, I hope you enjoy and find this interesting, and again, don't expect the book/game's lore and book timelines/events in this story.

**Chapter 1: Embers**

I'm Tolenka, an IT specialist from Kirov. I had family living in Velikiye Luki and after hearing about the bombs I was immediately moved. I can't say the same about my family since they were supposed to get in the Moscow transit and make their way to me, in Tyumen. Eventually, chaos ensued here too. The police couldn't control people rioting. Bw-

"Fuck." I hissed under my breath aloud to the empty, frozen van. I wiped the goggles of my gas mask and rubbed my fingers against the leather lining of my jacket. I'm by no means overweight, but this jacket made me seem so. I crumpled up the piece of paper that I was writing on and put it in my pocket. I was alone. I tried the door once more, but it didn't budge. Kicking it in didn't help either. Frost was already on the windows and I couldn't feel my skin. The pencil I used to write with was becoming dull, but I pocketed it anyways. Right next to one extra magazine for a short, 5.45 AK.

I leaned forward towards the wheel and almost tried turning the key in the ignition, but rather that I pulled it out and put it next to the magazine and pencil. I tried to wipe condensation off the windshield but was it was a fruitless attempt. I could make out the wooden pole that had crushed the front of my car and caused two awnings of snow to collapse onto me, further getting me stuck in the pile of shit I had already driven into. Especially after the storm I tried to drive through, snow was on all sides of my car, except the trunk. The trunk!

I slid my seat back for even more legroom and crawled over the gear shifter and middle piece of the front of my car. I grabbed my backpack and rifle from the passenger seat and got into the back. Those doors weren't opening either. I thought I had almost got the left door with a kick but I gave up and continued with my original plan. I reached over the left backseat and pulled the lever. That seat snapped forward onto my arm and shoulder, making me recoil back. I climbed through to find the yellow chain meant for kidnap victims. I pulled it and I heard the trunk pop.

I lifted up the trunk and soot-stained snow fell onto my mask and jacket. I was able to push the trunk up enough to get me and my shit out. I looked up. I did make it to Moscow. Blue sky once again after the storm.

Tall skyscrapers still standing and abandoned. My car wasn't smoking. You could still see the dark maroon red exterior and black hood. Barely the hood. Hubcaps were intact but the front right one was gone, it always was. I wiped my goggles once again and looked down the street I was driving on. Cars and their passengers lost to time, wind blasting snow through alleys, and buildings lining the once-living streets. Little to my knowledge though it was still very much alive.

I started to set off to the tune of my stomach grumbling and boots crushing the icy snow. The wind picked up about 20 paces forward. Grey streaks across the sky and a few flakes of snow fell gracefully. Black fabric fluttered twenty feet out behind a car. I left dark and watery footprints as I walked. A bit of the road below me was visible. The snow picked up and grey hugged the sky tighter.

I walked up closer to find a tattered blanket clinging to a closed hood on a rusty car. Underneath the blanket was a rotted skeleton with a small companion, also rotting, with a gas mask and a small stuffed rodent creature, which had fallen under the blanket and the skeleton's arm to be shielded from the howling wind.

I grabbed the blanket and ripped it off and out from under the hood. The rodent was pushed out from under the skeleton's arm with an especially strong gust of wind. It didn't make it far. I looked at the blood that was dried and apparently stained on the furry fabric flesh.

That is when I noticed it, the dry dull shine of .357, not from here. I picked it up out from under the tire and felt the weight in my hands. I popped it open and saw one empty shell, no others. I looked down at the two bodies and sighed through my mask. I pulled the gun up and felt the hammer with my finger but moved it away. I tried mocked shooting with it but in the end, left it next to the bodies. No bullets, useless.

Grey now enveloped the sky and snow was getting in the way of seeing. Not a blizzard or storm by any means, but still a lot of snow. The road that used to be visible more or less was now blanketed. With my new blanket in my backpack, I set off towards the end of the road.

I've never been to the metro besides my youth years, so I barely remember anything about them, but apparently there is a thriving civilization here. I must make it into the tunnels to be able to survive the radiation. I pulled up my wrist and flattened my coat, pushing my glove forward some.

My watch had a glass cover I could open to perform maintenance. Before I left, I had stowed a piece of paper in there that read '14 min, 1606.' That meant at 1620 hours I would need to swap filters, but the issue arose when I checked the time under the paper, which I discarded in the wintry wind. The big arrow was pointing just past the seven and the small one was pointed between the four and five.

"Shit shit shit." I panted and pulled my useless filter out. And dropped it to the floor.

I began running, not worrying about anything except how much time I had left. About 4:37 I said, exhaling. I was sweating but very cold. At my feet were bloodstains, not fresh but not old. They were blotted out by snow, but I could still follow them. Maybe they led to the metro?

I saw a leg leading under a car, looks like he was dragged there. Past that was a shattered glass door and another body with no mask. I grabbed the leg of the one under the car and pulled him out. I frantically grabbed his mask and knocked my own off, putting his over my head in the process. I took a deep breath. I felt as if I was breathing through the life of someone else. Time seemed to stop, and the snow seemed to lessen. I could make out individual flakes drifting down.

My gas mask was stitched together but covered my whole face and neck. This new one was only a rubber strap and face mask. The front of my neck was exposed but my jacket hood was able to cover everything else except my neck. I rubbed my hand across my sweaty exposed neck under my chin and then sat in the snow. I set my rifle down but kept my backpack on my back. I slid my finger down the side of the rifle. 10 round magazines, two of them. I then took off my backpack and sorted through it, not worrying about the time in this filter.

Inside my backpack was a roll of Russian currency, second coat, new gloves and other clothes, a bag of smaller bags containing pills and medicine, gauze, civilian tourniquets, and a few other items like rope and charcoal tabs at the bottom buried. I looked over at the body I dragged out from under the car. I checked the pockets and pulled out a few 7.62 spent casings which I discarded, along with 8 unspent cartridges. I pocketed then next to my crumpled paper, pencil, and magazine. I checked his back pockets and found a pack of cigarettes, empty, but there were still matches inside. Old fashioned. I stood up, zipped my backpack shut, and walked off, leaving the second body to his resting place against the wall.

I patted my pockets after half a mile and ten minutes of walking aimlessly and realized my pencil was gone. I rubbed the wrinkles of my forehead right above my new mask. It still felt like I was breathing the air of someone else. Their recycled air.

The metro didn't seem far, I was in the borders and most likely had passed an entrance, but I was too star-struck in the city that I zoned out. The Kremlin would be close as well, but I knew I'd probably never get to see it. The Botanical Gardens weren't far either, but until then I'd have to look for an entrance nearby. After all, this filter could be dead, and I wouldn't know.

Grey, dark clouds shrouded the dark sky, but I managed to find an ice-covered door that led downwards to the basement of a building. Snow covered the outside of the door but it itself seemed dry. I tried the handle and it opened with a creak. Dust immediately scattered across the new opening and forced me to wipe my goggles. I coughed but it was mainly out of instinct since my gas mask blocked it all out. I stepped inside. Stairs went downwards. White and green paint lined the walls and was peeling heavily, leaving behind a cracked wall. I closed the door behind me and stepped through the dark, dank stairway. It led to a door, like the other but with a bulkhead, which wouldn't open. A newspaper, blurred with time and ripped apart, was on the floor hanging off one of the stairs. I tried to read the headline but to no avail. I wiped my gas mask once more and continued.

I traced my fingers along the gray metal door stained with from events years ago. Next to the bulkhead was a sign that said 'NOVOKOSINO.' I sighed and knocked again.  
"Hello?" I said loudly. My voice echoed through the hallway. No response. I walked back and kicked a piece of plywood into the wall. The white thin sheet of wood bounced off the green wall, which turned to some sort of padding at the floor. I quickly forgot about it as I trekked up the stairs and back onto the surface.

I had some wood laid out in the open. It was a small pile, but it served its purpose. I took out the empty cigarette carton and took out the last three matches and discarded the box into the fire. It was made up of branches of a dead tree that sat on the sidewalk. They lined this street, but I only needed one. It sat almost under an awning so a third of the tree or so was still mostly dry and burnable. I lit one of the matches and carefully set it in the driest patch of wood. I had no leaves so that newspaper I found inside the stairwell would have to do.

It took a few minutes, but the fire was lit and roaring. I inhaled deeply. This filter was sure as hell busted but there was nothing I could do but wait out the radiation. I dragged my fingers across its surface and almost took it off, but I resisted the urge and tried not to think about it. Pictures of my kids and wife flashed in the licks of the flame. Embers traced the air around me as snowflakes threatened their very existence. Food was all I could think about as the night turned darker. The gusts of wind brought more new sounds than the day, all a part of my mind I said. I couldn't help but feel I'd be grabbed from behind, so I kept my rifle close.  
But there it was, a call. A roar. More joined in, close. Wind was displaced by something approaching fast. I jumped up with my rifle in my hands and backpack on my shoulders. I retreated to the entrance to the stairwell, leaving my fire lit. I jolted back when I saw the shape of a beast appear behind the fire. In a frenzied panic, I fired two rounds of my AK into the car across the street which I couldn't see. I turned around and opened the door, attempting my best to close it but the face of a beast stuck its head in and shoved the door aside. It snarled and leaped atop me. Its wide-open mouth found a landing spot on my lower leg. I howled, nowhere near as loud as it did minutes prior. The bite forced me upright into a sitting position. I blind fired my AK, three shots into the wall, but one or two sunk into the beast's body. I couldn't see, but I'm sure it could. It jumped off me and looked as if it were to pounce again. I could barely make out its furry body in the light from the fire in the door, illuminating every hair. Its face was a mystery, however. I saw more in the light running me down.

I was able to jump back and break into a sprint, firing the rest of my magazine behind me as I ran. _Fuck, I was cornering myself,_ I thought, but I couldn't look behind me. I somehow made it down the steps without slipping, and right to the bulkhead. I pounded on the door. "Please god, you gotta help me!" I turned and fumbled for my second magazine, which lay in my pocket. I knocked the crumpled paper of my legacy onto the floor, it didn't really matter anymore. I heard a shift from the other side. The beasts slowly came down the steps, but still at great speed for a human.

The door opened surprisingly fast for its size. A tall man, more muscular than I, opened it. A lantern sat on a chair next to him and a smaller, skinnier guy stood behind him. They looked me up and down for a millisecond before grabbing me by the arms and throwing me inside. I lost my balance and fell right into the wall. The bulkhead slammed shut. I could feel the blood and pain from the bite now and I covered the wound with my hand. The tall stranger grappled my throat and threw a right hook into my jaw. I struggled and reached for my rifle but the skinny one kicked it out of my hands.

"Hold him." The big one said, through his gas mask. I couldn't see either of them through their outfits, but they clearly were meant for the surface. He grasped my rifle in his hands and checked the empty magazine. And an empty chamber. My second was hidden in my pocket when I failed to pull it out. He hit me across the face with it and my vision immediately when blurry. I tried to slide away from them and hold my head.

"You didn't do it." The skinny one said to the tall one.  
"Shut up, bitch." He retorted, flipping my rifle around. The stock came crashing against my head hard. Warm blood seeped from the cut on my head and onto the hood of my jacket. I slowly faded into unconsciousness as I fell to the floor, sitting. "Let me take his shit, you can take his bullets, I get the rest." The tall one said.

"No, not a fair trade, that mag looks empty!" They continued their conversation as I closed my eyes.  
After a minute, I couldn't hear them anymore.


End file.
